Vanesa’s office looks like one of those high-end wellness apps tried to cosplay as a porn set and failed in a sexy way. Soft lighting, too much white, some fake plant in the corner, and this huge leather chair that basically screams “you’re going to do something you regret here.” You play this poor corporate drone who pretends to be there for “stress” and “performance anxiety,” but let’s be real, you’re there because she’s a futa shrink with big tits, lazy confidence and that slow way of talking that makes every normal sentence sound like a dirty suggestion. The game doesn’t waste time with complex fake psychology bullshit. She asks a few surface questions, looks bored, then starts poking at all your insecurities: your job, your dick, your relationships, your self-control. And she does it while slowly closing physical distance, touching your wrist a little too long, adjusting her glasses while staring straight at your crotch, that kind of teasing that hurts in a good way. It feels like those fucked up horny thoughts you get at work when you see a hot manager walk by and wonder what would happen if you just stopped being a decent human for a moment.

What I didn’t expect is how much the therapy vibe is used as an excuse to blur consent in this very specific “you are technically agreeing but you know she’s playing you” way. She gives you “exercises” that start innocent and then suddenly her hand is on your thigh, and you’re getting a slow, clinical handjob while she keeps this professional tone like she’s reading from a self-help audiobook. When she goes down for oral, she doesn’t transform into some wild porn actress; she stays calm, measured, like she’s testing you, watching your reaction as if she’s tracking progress on a chart. The best part is how she talks about your partner, like a case study. She keeps asking about them, how the sex is, what’s missing, why you’re fantasizing about someone else. Then she casually suggests “practice sessions” to help you “perform better at home,” which is fucking hilarious because you can literally feel she doesn’t give a shit about saving your relationship. There is this cold spark of ownership behind her eyes. The game calls it therapy, but it’s closer to grooming you into her personal toy, and the netorare/netori angle hits harder because it’s not loud or dramatic, it’s slow, it’s a creep of boundaries. One moment you’re fully dressed talking about stress, the next she has your cock in her mouth and she’s asking you, in this calm tone, if you think your partner could ever satisfy you like this. It’s intimate and fucked up at the same time, and the more you go back to her, the less you even pretend you’re there to “heal” anything. You’re just chasing that strange mix of shame, relief, and the feeling that someone smart and dangerous has their fingers wrapped around both your mind and your dick.